John Steinbeck

Maybe we all have in us a secret pond where evil and ugly things germinate and grow strong. But this culture is fenced, and the swimming brood climbs up only to fall back. Might it not be that in the dark pools of some men the evil grows strong enough to wriggle over the fence and swim free? Would not such a man be our monster, and are we not related to him in our hidden water? It would be absurd if we did not understand both angels and devils, since we invented them.

Maybe the knowledge is too great and maybe men are growing too small. Maybe, kneeling down to atoms, they're becoming atom-sized in their souls. Maybe a specialist is only a coward, afraid to look out of his little cage. And think what any specialist misses — the whole world over his fence.

All the names but one in here have two dates.

Riches seem to come to the poor in spirit, the poor in interest and joy. To put it straight — the very rich are a poor bunch of bastards.

But isn't it odd that Cain is maybe the best-known name in the whole world and as far as I know only one man has ever borne it?

"Where is he?" "How do I know?" said Cal. "Am I supposed to look after him?"

I am incomparably, incredibly, overwhelmingly glad to be home. I've never been so goddamn lonesome in my life.

You're going to pass something down no matter what you do or if you do nothing. Even if you let yourself go fallow, the weeds will grow and the brambles. Something will grow.

It was not laziness if he was a rich man. Only the poor were lazy. Just as only the poor were ignorant. A rich man who didn't know anything was spoiled or independent.

He said there couldn't be any more universal philosophers. The weight of knowledge is too great for one mind to absorb. He saw a time when one man would know only one little fragment, but he would know it well.

Yes, memory. Without that, time would be unarmed against us.

When you know a friend is there you do not go to see him. Then he's gone and you blast your conscience to shreds that you did not see him.